


XI: Strength

by R0seColoredGlasses



Series: Ace of Swords [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animagus Draco Malfoy, Animagus Luna Lovegood, BAMF Harry Potter, BAMF Hermione Granger, BAMF Luna Lovegood, BAMF Neville Longbottom, BAMF Ron Weasley, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Cedric Diggory Lives, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Dark Magic, Fix-It, Harry Potter Has a Pet Snake, Harry Potter is the Chosen One, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Lucius Malfoy Bashing, Magical Artifacts, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Neville Longbottom is the Chosen One, Not Canon Compliant, Powerful Neville Longbottom, Seer Luna Lovegood, Smart Harry Potter, Tarot Cards, Worldbuilding, alternate universe - multiple magic classes, because harry deserves better and readers deserve more cool magic shit, but basically just selkies, but seer doesnt mean omnipotent it just means weird dreams and all, harry potter the prodigal son, i dont ship ron and hermione, i made one of my characters functionally immortal because i can, im a sucker for fae stories, im rewriting harry potter, im trying ok, magical britain kinda sucks, magical lore, obligatory gringotts scene, read: hjordis is a god lmao, severus snape is honestly pretty cool, tarot lore, they arent good for each other imo, vague magical classism, wild magic, worldbuilding: magic lore, writer cant tag, writer is inconsistent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-28 11:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30139077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R0seColoredGlasses/pseuds/R0seColoredGlasses
Summary: Welcome to the first of what will hopefully be the Ace of Swords series! I decided to cram as much worldbuilding and cool magic shit into the Harry Potter universe as I possibly could and, when that didn’t work, i instead took it apart and decided to go off-the-rails and make a fix-it that features the best characters more prominently (read: Neville Longbottom will elbow his way into the main narrative and I dont care how).After recieving an odd but fateful tarot reading from professor Trelawney, Harry decides to run away from the Dursleys and change his life. He redesigns himself completely and gets a chance to really make a difference.CHECK MY BIO FOR GENERAL DISCLAIMERS
Series: Ace of Swords [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114775
Comments: 14
Kudos: 54





	1. So it begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is headed back to Privet Drive for the summer, but he has no intention of staying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall. im psyched.

It was a quiet train ride on the Hogwarts Express, where Harry and Ron played gobstones, exploding snap and (reluctantly, on Harry’s part) wizard chess. Hermione had shoved herself into a corner with a stack of books. For once, the lot weren’t bothered by anyone and the trip was the quietest it had ever been. In the beginning, Neville had checked in with them, but had elected to hang out with Dean and Seamus and a few of their hufflepuff friends. Besides that, nobody showed and the trio was left in (almost) blissful silence.

Harry stared at the chessboard positioned on the seat between Ron and himself. The pieces stood calmly and waited for Harry to make a move- by now they knew that nothing they could suggest to him could ever help him win the game: Harry was abysmal on his own but going up against Ron was a lost cause. They were five minutes into their game and he had lost about half his pieces while Ron had lost none. 

“Knight to D6,” Harry murmured, only partially considering the game. 

“Bad move, mate,” Ron said happily. “Queen to D6!” The white queen moved across the board and stood from her little wooden chair. She proceeded to swing the chair, knocking the black knight off the board as the piece went rolling onto the floor. The brutality over and done, she politely took her place on her chair once more and primly readjusted her miniscule crown as Harry moved to pick up the knight and place it back in the bag Ron kept the pieces in. The tiny knight shook his fist indignantly at the board as he was shoved into the drawstring.

“Right then… Pawn to A5,” Harry decided, moving at random. He idly wondered how soon the game would be over. He wanted to stare out the window.

“Rook to C3… checkmate!” Ron grinned triumphantly, answering Harry’s private musing. “So that’s what? My fourth win?” 

“Fifth,” Hermione said without looking up. 

“Ron, can we quit chess for a bit?” Harry groaned halfheartedly. 

“Fine…” The redhead said, already reaching to pack up the chessboard. Harry sat and chewed absently on a pumpkin pasty he’d purchased from the trolley witch a few hours ago and hadn't really picked up for most of the ride. Knowing the Dursleys, it would be the last bit of decent food he would get for a while. There was nothing like a Hogwarts meal, and Harry wondered if it wouldn’t be the thing he missed most over break.

The feast had been epic… and a reminder of what Harry would be returning to. At Hogwarts, Harry didn’t have to watch Dudley eat both boys’ share of food and sick it up later… he was never the one at the table with the smallest plate, and he never had to go hungry. Harry had practically gorged on treacle tart at the feast, knowing he wouldn’t have it for a while. He would miss the scones and clotted cream at breakfast, the leek and mushroom pie, the beer battered fish and chips… It took up a good portion of his time at the Dursleys, just daydreaming about eating well.

The first year back at the Dursleys after Hogwarts had been the hardest, Harry had gotten used to eating and sleeping enough and his body immediately went into withdrawal over such simple things. Things that used to be normal to him didn’t register the same way after a year away: Vernon coming home with his tie loosened around the collar of his crisp suit meant that Harry would be in for a rough night, the state of the kitchen stove could tell Harry whether or not Petunia had cleaned, thus whether she was in a good enough mood to feed him more than leftovers. Harry had very quickly lost all the second-nature sense to identify the emotional landmarks of those around him, especially given the way his dorm-mates were, for the most part, far more stable than the Dursleys. 

The second, and now third year back would be easier, Harry could adjust a bit better this year since he knew what to expect: Vernon would still be fuming about the “Marge incident” and Petunia would still fret over the fact that Harry’s godfather was Sirius black: notorious mass murderer and dangerous escaped criminal still on the loose. Harry would be allowed to languish alone in his room until such time as he could manage an escape somehow. This year, that was the plan. 

Ron rummaged around in his bag and pulled out his gobstone set once more. they had played when they first got on the train, but quickly lost interest.

“How about another round?” Ron suggested, shaking the bag of little magic stones. They sounded like marbles as the hollow glass pieces knocked about in the worn old drawstring. Harry shook his head dismissively and turned instead to stare out the window at the rapidly changing view, as more and more residences cropped up in his line of sight.

“So you’re just gonna brood again, hmm?” Ron continued to grumble to himself but Harry started ignoring him and he went to bother Hermione instead.

Harry rested his forehead against the cold glass and allowed the rhythmic movement of the train to lull him into a calmer state of mind. He found himself far more clearheaded and steady when there was something like the noises and motions of a train to keep pace externally. It was oddly soothing. 

Harry had begun to brood on what Professor Trelawney had told him on the last day of class: change wouldn’t happen until he took action. He had to leave behind that which was causing him pain: his “hanged man”. For a start, that would be the Dursleys. After that, it would be Voldemort and the whole bloody political mess he’d found himself dragged into upon his entrance into the wizarding part of Britain. The young boy found himself in a tough spot… “Change would not come until you take action”… But he didn’t have anywhere else to go except towards the pain. A week ago he had been wondering: Did that mean he would continue to suffer until he came of age? But lately he wasn’t so sure. Originally he had reasoned that if he were to run away, Dumbledore would simply find him once more and drag him back to Privet Drive… that there had to be a better solution. Time had told that there was not.

Harry had already followed through with the simplest plan: he had gone to the headmaster and begged him not to send him back to the Dursleys, every year since he came to Hogwarts… Nothing changed, and he went back every summer. No, there was no denying it: he would have to find his own way out.

Harry had been privately toying with thoughts about leaving Privet Drive and living in Diagon Alley, but those thoughts never got far, often drowned by much bigger questions. According to Trelawney, Harry had an important destiny, one that, if he succeeded, would apparently bring about a new age. In his first year, the centaur Firenze had said it too: he was an important player. He certainly didn’t feel important, and if he was, what did he have to do? What was at stake?

As the gentle, repetitive rattling of the train car lulled Harry into a stupor, the sounds of Ron and Hermione arguing over… something… faded into background noise and left Harry alone in a mental haze of half-baked plans and questions that didn’t seem so pressing anymore. Then, Harry managed to dredge up a long-repressed memory.

Harry had run away once before… as an eight-year-old he had escaped one day while told to garden in the blazing sun… He had gone towards the edge of Little Whinging when he started to realize he had nowhere to go and no way to support himself. He had been missing for about six hours before a police car picked him up and took him back to Privet Drive, all the while he protested how he didn’t want to go back. After getting home, Vernon had undergone a series of very pointed questions from the police officer, and had been absolutely livid when he shut the door and turned to Harry, already taking off his belt with a vicious gleam in his small, beady eyes. The memory ended there, which was probably for the best, all things considered. 

“You two should really get changed,” Hermione said suddenly, looking up from her book and studying the boys. “We’re about twenty minutes out from King’s Cross.” Harry’s heart dropped, and his friends must have noticed his sour look because they had pity in their eyes, but to their credits neither said a word.


	2. The jail sentence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry returns with Vernon to Privet Drive for what promises to be another abysmal summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im gonna be going real slow with these, unfolding a lil bit at a time. The escape is just the beginning and im not gonna put it off too much more at all.

Harry approached his uncle on the platform after bidding goodbye to Ron and Hermione. As much as he would have liked to drag his feet, he knew he would be yelled at for it. 

He hadn’t seen his uncle Vernon’s stupid purple face all year (the benefits of boarding school) but it had remained the same as ever. The immaculately trimmed moustache did nothing whatsoever to hide the ruddy splotches of self-induced stress that covered his face. Harry and “his kind” had always been the main cause of high blood pressure for one Vernon Dursley. The man stood out like a sore thumb amid muggle families happily greeting their children: he looked absolutely irate that he had to be there at all. Anger had no place in the sea of happy family reunions between child and parent: distinct discomfort was a beacon for attention when surrounded by natural joy.

Harry spotted Neville Longbottom greeting his gran. She said nothing but placed a hand on his shoulder, posture arrow-straight and face impassive as she guided the young boy to the end of the platform. They too seemed a bit out of place, but there were a few in the crowd: aristocrats and purebloods, who greeted their children in much the same way. None had the livid face of Harry’s uncle, though. 

Harry didn’t say a word as he joined his uncle on the platform and allowed himself to be steered sharply out of the train station towards the car. The unspoken ill-temper was palpable. Vernon unlocked the car and stood by while he let Harry lift his trunk into the backseat. 

“Oh just let it out, I don't want that bloody owl in the car!” Vernon declared when Harry tried to fit Hedwig’s cage in the backseat on top of the trunk. He happily let her free and decided to carry the cage in his lap. The snowy owl took off in quite the hurry and effectively left Harry alone with his uncle. 

The last time Harry had seen his uncle he had run away on the Night Bus after blowing up Aunt Marge. It hadn’t been an amicable parting, to say the least, but here he was, back again. The drive home was entirely silent with the exception of the sound of a motor, and the occasion where Uncle Vernon would clear his throat loudly, dragging Harry’s thoughts away from daydreams about Hogwarts and back into reality. Harry had always found car rides comforting when he wasn’t being bothered, just like the Hogwarts Express. He let his mind wander to the clear air and breeze filling a sapphire evening sky Harry had never once seen before arriving at Hogwarts. He thought of the Forbidden Forest and it’s twisted trees standing like sentinels around the school, emerald green crowns of leaves swaying gently with every breeze. He thought of the mirror-still surface of the Black Lake and the way the little boats that had carried the arriving first-years across had swayed in the inky dark water. Harry found he could breathe better when he filled his mind with such simple images.

When they got home Vernon shoved his coat into Harry’s hands to hang on the hook by the door while he manhandled the large, heavy school trunk through the door. Harry watched his uncle lock his trunk up in the cupboard under the stairs. Vernon shoved the key in his pocket, shut every bolt, hook and eye, and ushered Harry upstairs. He turned to face him as the boy stood in the frame of his doorway. 

“Now I don’t want any funny business… none of your nonsense like last year!” The ruddy-faced man spat. 

“Yes Uncle Vernon.”

“You’ll help with chores when you’re told, but besides that there will be no leaving this room, you got that, boy?” 

“Yes Uncle Vernon.” 

“I don’t expect to hear any noise from your room now, you hear?” 

“Yes Uncle Vernon.” Harry parroted a third time, feeling rather robotic.

“Good,” the man finally seemed satisfied. Without another word he slammed the door between Harry and himself. Harry heard the lock on the door click sharply and he stood and listened as Vernon’s thunderous footfalls moved away down the stairs, leaving him alone in his room. 

With a sigh, Harry went to sit at his desk. If he was really to leave as he had been meditating on for a week, he needed a decent plan. What Trelawney had said stuck with him, not just because of his supposed “fate” but because it made a great deal of sense… outside of Harry’s cycle of misery, who was he? What did he like, not just because he was good at it but because he genuinely enjoyed it? Who could he be on his own terms? In order to find all this out, it stood to reason that Harry would have to leave Little Whinging and go somewhere he could truly take care of himself for once. He needed to be somewhere he could grow and change, where he could mature just like Hermione was always telling him to, or open up to the world the way Ron always said he should.

This was, of course, not all that simple. Where could he go where he would be welcome? Sirius was out of the country (and a fugitive), the Grangers didn’t know him, the Weasley family would almost certainly go right to Dumbledore, who would in turn send him back to the Dursleys… There was always another option: strike out on his own and see how he could fend for himself.

Harry knew it was a terrible idea… but he also knew that he didn’t have any better ones. The likelihood of getting caught and re-imprisoned at Privet Drive was lowest if he was on his own. If Harry could get himself to Diagon Alley, he could plan from there.


	3. Jailbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets the fuck out of there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t wait 3 more chapters to do it, i just figured id get it over with so we can start worldbuilding already!

Three days had passed since Harry had come back to Privet Drive for the summer. It was pretty standard: Meagre breakfast, chores, sometimes lunch, back to his room for the rest of the day, dinner. This simple existence was paradoxically complex: he had to walk on eggshells around his aunt and uncle, considering the two were incredibly irritated with him after his Aunt Marge incident a year previously. Dudley was out with his gang most days, and Harry found himself having peaceful afternoons of planning… so long as he didn’t need to leave his room. The question was: how could he manage to sneak out and get his trunk when it was time to go?

Harry had been steeling himself and working up his nerves for the past several days and had made a rough plan: after five days he would sneak out to the street corner where he could safely call the Night Bus, get on said Night Bus and ride to London. He would visit Gringotts to collect enough money for food, room and board, and school supplies. He would stay in Knockturn Alley while he scouted for a more permanent solution. He would wait out the remainder of the summer attempting to gain independence as a minor, and would then head back to Hogwarts. Harry was quite confident that the Dursleys would tell nobody of his disappearance. They didn’t care… so long as they weren’t threatened by Dumbledore. This, however, was unlikely: if Dumbledore hadn’t yet checked on him since placing him with the Dursleys, he wouldn’t start now.

Harry wasn’t stupid, he’d seen the kneazles that Arabella Figg kept as “cats”, seen the moving postcards she’d forgotten to put away when he visited, he was absolutely positive she was the only witch in the neighborhood. The only liability in the neighborhood… and she wouldn’t likely notice his absence. 

The thing that worried Harry most was how he was going to get out, what with being locked up the way he was. All his things were stuck in the cupboard under the stairs and there was practically no access during the day… he certainly couldn’t go out his window.

The premeditated plan had a big flaw. He couldn’t get out. 

***

Harry’s fifth day at the Dursleys arrived and he was pacing in his room. He was fully dressed (last year at Hogwarts he had gotten the idea to shrink Dudley’s hand-me-downs to actually fit) and he didn’t even care that his trainers were leaving dirty prints on the ivory carpet that covered the whole floor. He wouldn’t have to clean it, after all.

Shadows moved under the door and he watched them with great interest as they came to a stop. 

“Freak,” Uncle Vernon bellowed from the other side of the door, “We’re going to bed, don’t make any noise!” 

The doorknob was jiggled from the outside to double check the lock. The shadows under the door moved away down the hall. 

The sound of another doorknob, hushed voices of a couple going about their night, the sound of mattress springs… and Harry was in the clear. 

Harry had all night. He would need it. 

There was the “alohomora” charm… and Harry didn’t have a wand. He had every intention to return to school so he could not simply use magic and risk expulsion, not with the trace on him. He’d already received one warning about a charm he hadn’t even been the one to cast… he was not anxious to wake up the dursleys with a Ministry of Magic Howler.

Harry had a theory, but some part of him was sick with worry that it would not work in practice, leaving him stuck in his room all alone. He’d let Hedwig out again that afternoon and she knew not to return to the house again. Hedwig could follow him anywhere, but Harry had faith that she wouldn’t come back to Privet Drive: she would wait for him, but not return. Failure meant complete isolation. Failure meant the worst.

Anyways, Harry had a theory. 

On Harry’s fourth day of planning his daring escape, he had come upon a deeply repressed memory of his days in primary school when he was living in his cupboard: at seven years old, he had pressed his hand into the corner of the door where he knew the bolted lock to be on the other side and he had practiced unlocking it with his hands, little Harry hadn’t known at the time that this was magic. He'd used it to sneak out of his cupboard for food. Upon his return from the kitchen he’d come face to face with a livid Uncle Vernon, who had beaten him soundly for his “freakishness”. Harry had decided that unlocking his cupboard door was an unnatural thing, and that he would no longer practice such things that made his uncle angry. He had all but forgotten about this ability in the following years, allowing locked doors to contain him as he grew up, unable to fend for himself at the mercy of his relatives who, after the cupboard incident had installed several more locks on the door… just in case.

Harry worried he could no longer control this ability, that he was truly trapped within the confines of these locks, but he didn’t have any better plan.

He reached out to place both hands around the neck of the cold brass doorknob and closed his eyes, focusing intently on the lock. He remembered something Hermione had been going on about earlier that year: magic required focus and often the ability to imagine one’s magic as an extension of oneself. Like an extra limb, to grasp wandless magic one had to establish extra “motor control” with their magic, and that required full attention, but it always had to be paired with a perfectly pronounced incantation and performed motion. There was, of course, the promise that wandless spells would be less than half as powerful, even with the proper incantation, but Harry wondered if enough intent would do the trick.

Harry chose to picture little fingers of green light reaching through the cracks in the doorway, seeping into the lock and pushing against it. He almost gasped aloud when he felt the first barrel in the lock release. One tendril of magic held tension on the bottom of the lock while another pushed the remaining barrels away towards the top: it was like a sixth sense. Lockpicking was a good deal more fiddly than Harry remembered (of course, this lock was no simple bolt). 

Finally, with a resounding click, the lock opened itself and the whole door swung open unbidden. Had Harry cared to examine the doorknob, he would have seen the ominous scratches and gashes in the metal around the lock where the grappling and scraping tendrils of his own magic had inserted themselves into the keyhole. The metal was practically gouged open, as if a small wild animal with the strength of a bear had scrambled wildly at it. Sure, he had technically picked the lock, but he had nearly stripped it from the inside in the process. Harry had been desperate to get out, and his magic had made it possible at any cost. Had Harry given himself the chance to look, he would have seen the very first of the wild and primal magic he would wield his whole life long. Vernon would have a fit in the morning.

Holding his shoes in one hand and clad only in his socks, Harry quietly slipped down the stairs. One of the benefits of Vernon and Dudley both being roughly the same weight as an adult male bull was that the stairs were kept in good shape as they had to be fixed often. They hardly ever creaked because the sound annoyed Vernon above almost all else: whenever he heard a creak he called for a new repair. Harry was light and in his socks his footfalls were almost silent, any sound left was masked by the heavy snoring of the Dursley men. 

Harry made his way silently to the cupboard under the stairs and unlocked every hook-and-eye and bolt, stopping only at the lock that required a key. On this one he used the same method as before, reaching out with his magic and futzing with it until he heard a click. It was a lot more precise now that he knew what he was looking for. Harry, once again, didn’t notice the newly stripped metal around the lock, gaping like a maw. 

He lifted his trunk out as quietly as he could and opened it carefully. From it he took his firebolt, the small bag of galleons he had left over from his previous year, his wand, invisibility cloak and a few other small things he thought he’d need. It was time to replace his school robes, and he’d heard about trunks charmed to be always light, so he figured he could very easily replace what he had to leave behind. He shoved what he could into a bag that Dudley had generously cast off a few years back, carrying only his firebolt in his hand.

After placing his trunk back into the cupboard, he rushed as quietly as he could to the front door and when he slipped through it and closed it sharply behind him, he was finally alone in the cold light of the street lamps.

Harry savored these moments of freedom as the night air filled his willing lungs and he bent over to tie up his shoes, taking his time in a way he never had before in his life.


	4. Making my way downtown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry takes the night bus to London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My summaries are so dry! anyways im not sure if its knight bus or night but and im not sure if its knockturn or nocturne so if you see me switching back and forth er... my bad!

When Harry was satisfied that nobody had seen or heard his escape, he strode out to the street corner where Privet Drive ended, the far side where the trademark loud arrival of the Night Bus would not be heard by Petunia, who was a tremendously light sleeper. 

Harry switched the hand holding the firebolt, flattened his long fringe, and stuck out his “wand arm” to summon the bus.

The incredible “BANG” that followed was enough to cause various lights to click on around the neighborhood, illuminating their respective windows with warm yellow light. It couldn’t be helped, the magic used to apparate a whole bus was too volatile to be silent. Still, Harry had to move quickly so as not to be seen.

From the hideous purple double-decker bus stepped, not Stan Shunpike as Harry had expected, but an older man wearing the same uniform. Before he could speak, Harry rushed past him onto the bus, anxious to get out of sight. The man, who looked to be in his mid-forties, stared at Harry blandly before boarding the bus again after him. 

“Welcome to the Night Bus, transportation anywhere in mainland Britain for the stranded witch or wizard, my name is Torston Benedict and our driver tonight is Ernie,” the man in the purple uniform said, nodding towards Ernie who, quite luckily, didn’t seem to recognize Harry. “Would you like me to stow that broom?”

“No thanks. How much to get to London?” Harry asked, allowing Torston to guide him to one of the beds set up on the low floor of the bus.

“Three silver sickles. We’ve got two more passengers to drop off, but they’re going to London too.”

After paying the man, Harry curled his legs under him on the lumpy Night Bus bed and braced himself for the ride.

***

Harry arrived at the Leaky Cauldron with mild whiplash and a bit of nausea, but everything he carried with him was safe and sound. The ride had been quieter than last time, and had allowed Harry a great deal of thought over what came next.

Tom would recognize Harry if he tried to stay the night at the Leaky Cauldron, so he would have to get into Diagon Alley completely unnoticed and find somewhere else to stay. He knew for a fact that there were inns in Nocturne, and he only hoped that one of them would be safe enough for Harry to get some actual sleep. Even though everything in Diagon was shut down at night, Harry had no idea whether or not anything in Nocturne would be, so he could only hope he wouldn’t run into any trouble.

Harry bade Torston a good night before stepping onto the curb and watching as the Night Bus sped away, wincing at the noise. When Harry was satisfied that nobody was nearby, he rummaged in his bag (an old black messenger bag that Dudley hadn’t taken interest in because he thought satchels were too “queer”) and he found his invisibility cloak. After one more compulsive and tentative look around, Harry threw the invisibility cloak over himself and gave an appreciative shiver as the cold, almost liquid silver fabric caressed the exposed parts of his skin like ghostly silk.

Harry had completely disappeared under the moonlight. 

He slipped into the Leaky Cauldron, hoping nobody would notice the pub door open on its own. A small triumph: nobody even turned their heads as the heady door swung ajar and Harry crept inside, practically hugging the wall as he moved towards the back exit. 

There was a close call when a drunk witch almost spilled her drink on him, and another when an arm swung up from out of nowhere, so Harry re-routed and went behind the bar, where only Tom was. The barkeep was busy with butterbeer and Harry was able to get past him in the narrow barspace without much trouble, but maneuvering his broom was almost a problem with all the shelves full of glass behind the bar. Finally, the back exit in sight, Harry rushed it as he saw somebody else head towards it. He managed to just squeak by as the door shut behind the large wizard who was entering Diagon.

Harry was very relieved about this turn of events: in his excitement to get out of Privet Drive, he had completely forgotten that he had no clue which bricks to tap on in order to get into the alley. Luckily, the old bloke in front of him knew exactly how, and Harry had to follow him in through the moving wall of bricks as quickly as possible, only just managing not to get his cloak caught on the edge of one of the bricks.

Harry had made it. Now all he had to do was find Nocturne Alley.


	5. The Moonflower Inn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> harry checks in somewhere safe to sleep and resolves the next day to visit gringotts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was originally going to be two seperate chapters but i thought, since they’re both just short snippets, it makes a good deal of sense to put them both together.

When Harry had reached the Moonflower Inn in Nocturne Alley, he saw fit to take his cloak off. Despite the disreputable things he’d heard about Nocturne Alley, the Inn looked perfectly normal. The outside of it was clean and neat and, when Harry went in to get a room, the interior was sanitary and even cozy. 

Instead of the booths and sticky pub tables of the Leaky Cauldron, a few high-backed armchairs were settled around a roaring fire in a neat-looking fireplace. The bar was small and tasteful, and there seemed to be more food on the menu than drinks, and the seating was less a barstool than a tall hardwood chair. The whole place reminded Harry of Gryffindor tower, except with more neutral tones and calm, inviting colors rather than “eyesore orange” and “traffic light red”. Curious silver flowers bloomed from repurposed sconces on the wall that clearly used to hold torches. Perhaps they were the moonflowers after which the inn was named...

Harry wadded up his invisibility cloak and stuffed it into his bag as he went to sit at the bar. The people in armchairs by the fire looked distinctly not-sketchy, and despite the fact that it was Nocturne Alley they were in, nobody seemed unstable or violent or suspicious like Harry had been told by Hagrid and the Weasleys that the occupants of the alley were.

“Evening,” The barkeep said. She was a tall, thickset woman who looked to be in her mid-forties with a broad, friendly face and a smile that, oddly enough, put Harry at ease. Her wavy reddish hair was twisted out of her face and made her shoulders look even broader. “What can I do for you tonight?” She spoke with a distinct Scottish brogue.

“Are there any rooms available?” Harry asked quietly.

“Sure, the one-bedrooms are ten galleons a night, complimentary drink of choice before bed, full cleaning services. I’m afraid you’ll have to pay for a standard breakfast, though.”

“That sounds great… If I chose to stay longer after the first night, is there a way for me to extend my time here?”

“That won’t be a problem. Would you like your complimentary drink now? We have hot chocolate, butterbeer, pumpkin juice, tea or your choice of nightcap.”

Harry was busy fishing out twenty galleons for two nights to give to her, and slid the pile of coins across the bar.

“Perhaps a hot chocolate,” He mused

Harry was handed an old fashioned brass key with a room number engraved on it, and he was directed up the stairs behind the bar to room #4. The room, he found, was standardly clean and wonderfully inviting. Simple decor and a neutral color palette made for a soothing environment where Harry let his bag fall off his shoulder to the floor by a small mahogany desk across from the tiny little bathroom and shower, propped his firebolt up in the corner by the bed, and fell face-first into the fresh white linens. 

Some part of Harry was very comforted by the way the pillow case smelled just like the ones at Hogwarts always did: lavender and plain detergent. Before Harry could even think to take off his clothing or shoes, or turn over and climb in beneath the fluffy duvet, he was sound asleep.

***

Harry woke up late the following day and sat alone in his room processing the night before.

After years of abuse and hating his family and wanting to leave… it had been that easy the whole time? He felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest. Sure, he wasn’t certain what to do next, but he had options, potential waiting to be fulfilled. For a kid who had been told to carry the weight on his shoulders, Harry was feeling an awful lot of hope...

Before he took any further steps, Harry had to get to Gringotts and take some money from his vault. The only problem was, this was in Diagon Alley where he would definitely be recognized and turned in.

Harry’s bathroom mirror reflection was a short, wiry-looking boy with unkempt short hair and a very prominent scar that would definitely be an issue. Harry knew from practice that, if he focused hard enough, he could grow his hair out just by thinking about it. It was how he had, in the past, been so resistant to ugly haircuts: it was accidental magic in the past, but maybe he could do it again on purpose…

Harry faced his reflection and closed his eyes, focusing on his hair and it’s length, willing it to grow longer. When his head began to spin, he opened his eyes and had to grip the counter to steady himself. His long hair flowed down to and over his shoulders in lush black curls, looking a lot like his godfather’s had in photos from when he was younger. Harry had to sit down, he was breathing so heavily. It made sense, really: hair is protein and keratin, and Harry had essentially forced a huge volume of protein out of his body in order to lengthen his hair. He would have to eat a few large meals to make up for it, but overall it was a resounding success. The weight of his curls tamed them a bit and made them look less horridly unkempt and more lightly mussed. 

He moved a portion of his newly elongated hair to fall in front of his face. If nobody looked at him too closely, his scar would be far less visible. For now, it would have to do, but he would certainly see about some sort of cosmetics shop when he got the chance.


	6. Goblinville Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry goes to Gringotts and find out that there are some very compelling benefits to being a Potter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i sound exactly like every other fix-it fic but im not gonna abuse this, im just tryna set up the dominos i need to knock down in order to give Harry a ripoff version of shell cottage.

Harry had gotten through Diagon Alley without a hitch, but he was getting quite nervous as he entered the bank. He kept his head down and let his long hair fall into his face, adopting the “sullen goth teenager” vibe that he hoped would be an effective cover.

As he approached one of the many counters where the goblins were working, he raised his head a bit so he could actually see the goblin he’d be speaking to.

“Good morning,” He began nervously.

“Are you here for an account withdrawal?” The goblin said, cutting formalities short as he stared down his nose at Harry.

“No, I actually need to know who to see for details on my account. Besides, I don’t have my key…”

“Your name?” 

“Er- Harry Potter.”

The goblin didn’t pay him any further mind as he hopped off his stool and disappeared behind a row of scrolls on shelves obscuring whatever was behind the great line of desks on either side of the hall.

The goblin returned to the desk, but a second one emerged to lead Harry back behind the desk and the wall of scrolls to a doorway opening onto a long hallway. 

Harry was made to follow the goblin all the way down the dimly lit hall, listening only to the quiet clacking of the goblin’s low-heeled shoes. 

They at last reached their aim: one of the many doors lining each side of the hall. This one had a brass number one-seventy-six on its front, and when the goblin reached out for it, it swung open unbidden. The impressively large door opened to a wide room with high shelves of scrolls, tomes and records lining the walls. An enormous mahogany desk sat towards the far wall, with stiff-looking chairs on either side, and in the centre of the room there was a small circular grate opened into the floor like some sort of firepit, with a blazing violet flame burning from it with no fuel. For a subterranean organization of unfriendly goblins, the room was incredibly light and warm.

The goblin who had led Harry took his seat at the far side of the desk, and motioned for Harry to sit in the chair opposite him. As Harry passed the fire, a wave of heat passed through his body, but as he kept moving the discomfort quickly faded. Harry looked at the goblin questioningly.

“That’s a neat little magic trick. The flame is a standard installation into the more well-off families’ account manager’s offices: it protects from identity theft by burning away all magical and non-magical glamours and illusions. Even polyjuice is rendered completely useless in the light of the flame. You will also feel strongly compelled to tell only the truth while you sit within its warmth.” The goblin explained. “So, I am the Potter account manager Rustgrip. Please state your name.”

“Harry James Potter.”

“Very good. What is your purpose coming here today?”

“Erm… I wanted to withdraw some money, but I don't have my vault key. I was wondering if I could get a copy of it here,” Harry said.

“Did you misplace your vault key or was it stolen?” 

“I… I never had it in the first place,” He tried to explain, “When I come to Diagon Alley for my shopping, the Weasleys or Dumbledore always have it and they always make my withdrawals for me.”

“I see… This is an issue that will need to be solved.”

“Pardon?”

“Mister Potter,” The goblin began, summoning a quill and parchment with a sharp snap and beginning to take notes, “More than one adult who is not your legal guardian has had your vault key without your knowledge or express permission. Even as a minor, as heir to the Potter fortune you have specific rights regarding all your accounts, the least of which is to have control of where the money goes and who has access to it. The Potter family fortune is sealed off until you come of age or accept your title as the Potter head of house, with the exception of your trust vault. That said, absolutely nobody should have access to your accounts without your consent.”

Harry was shocked. Potter fortune? Nobody had told him his family had been wealthy, or that he actually had rights as its heir. He sat and gaped at the goblin in front of him, who simply looked at him blandly as he finished off his notes. 

“So… what do I do? How do I fix this?” He asked, dumbstruck and lost.

“There are three courses of action you can take from here. The first is to simply commission a specialist to change the locks on your trust and family vault, which would be expensive but well within your rights as owner of the vault. The second solution: you could file a formal request with Gringotts Bank to investigate the vault key location and retrieve it. That all said, the most drastic and least-recommended solution is for you to make a formal request to the Goblin Nation to change your status to emancipated minor so you may take up your mantle as the head of House Potter, seeing as you’re the last living member. The vault keys will be automatically recalled via magic when this happens. The Goblin Nation has the unique power to change the legal status of minors with their express consent and with sufficient evidence that the current legal guardian is incapable of managing your funds. This is because the bank is usually more accessible than the Ministry. You are at the absolute minimum age where this is allowed, but it is not advised. Which option would you like to move forward on?”

Harry thought back to the Dursleys. He thought back to the cupboard under the stairs and the years of emotional manipulation and abuse: the years of insufficient nutrition, the anger issues of his aunt and uncle, the misery and terrible summers. Which option would you like? That wasn’t even a question.

“The third option sounds appropriate. I wouldn’t like to return to the Dursleys.”

“Do you have any proof that they are incapable of adequately handling your funds, or that your welfare is worse off with them than without?” Rustgrip looked disturbed at Harry’s quick answer as he leaned across his desk to take notes once again.

“They have been the worst possible guardians to me for as long as I can remember. The only thing they did right was keep me alive. They know nothing of my vaults, and with my key somewhere I can’t find, they have no better chance at managing my money than I do, not that they would if I ask.” He said scornfully. “As for proof, I can’t offer you much of anything.”

“Your testimony under truth compulsion is enough. Would you be willing to go into detail about your treatment under your guardians?”

“Yes, if it gets me away from the Dursleys.” He said, watching as the goblin summoned a fresh piece of parchment. “From a young age I was only given enough food to keep me alive, not to keep me healthy by any stretch. I was punished for speaking out of turn to the extreme: I was beaten for asking questions, grounded for talking about unapproved topics, while my cousin could say absolutely anything he wanted and ask any questions. When I was older I was treated like a servant, made to do every chore except cleaning. I slept in a cupboard until the age of eleven. I was called a freak in my own home every day.”

“This is… extreme,” The goblin said as he scribbled furiously. “Why were you made to go back there after your first stay at Hogwarts?”

“Well, when I asked Professor Macgonegall if there was some sort of summer program, she took me to see Dumbledore. He didn’t think it was wise for me to stay with anyone besides the Dursleys.” 

“So, just to reiterate: you have been abused physically and emotionally by your legal guardians and the Headmaster of your school has taken no action against it?”

“That is correct.”

The pair went through several more questions of confirmation, and Rustgrip made Harry give all his information that he was aware of. The process was quick, but thorough, and Harry was quickly becoming aware of just how fast things were really moving when finally the questions stopped.

“Your testimony has been adequate.” Rustgrip stated blandly, rolling up his parchment and folding his hands pensively, “Now, do you have any plan to take care of yourself? It will be hard to get you emancipated if you don’t have anywhere to go.”

“I got myself to Diagon Alley, I can take care of myself fairly well when in a pinch, and I certainly have enough money to rent somewhere to stay,” Harry speculated after careful thought, “besides, I’m going away to Hogwarts in a month and a half, I won’t be on my own for very long.”

Rustgrip stood, carrying two long rolls of parchment with the red-tipped quill he’d been using tucked behind his pointed ear. 

“That seems to be in order, then. I will have to clear this with a few of my colleagues, I won’t bore you with the process, but when I return we will discuss the details of your becoming head of House Potter, then I will retrieve a list of assets and open your vaults to you.” Rustgrip looked at him very sharply, “Now, mister Potter, are you sure this is what you want?”

“Absolutely,” Harry said, trying to match the goblin’s somber tone.

“Try not to touch anything while I’m gone,” Rustgrip said, then turned on his heel and exited the room without another word. 

Harry sat in silence reflecting… this was it, he really never had to go back to the Dursleys! If Harry was the singing type, he would have sung. Alas, to absolutely nobody’s disappointment, Harry would not be singing on that (or any) fine summer morning.

***

Harry tried not to touch anything. He really did. The first rule of human interaction with the world is: do not touch fire. It should, by all means, have been very easy for Harry to sit quietly. 

The only problem was that the flames in the centre of the room were far too pretty and warm and purple, and the young boy, emancipated though he was on his way to being, was still a child and an impulsive Gryffindor. 

So Harry touched the fire.

He wouldn’t have, had it actually been hot and able to burn him, but as he knelt upon the stone floor and reached out for it, it was instead pleasantly warm. He moved his hands slowly until the playful tongues of violet fire lapped at his cautious fingers. The sensation of fire was foreign, and the flickering warmth across his skin was entirely too thrilling, so Harry thrust his hands fully into the flame without a moment’s thought, letting it envelop his arms as he absentmindedly gripped the grate in the bottom of the floor with the tips of his fingers.

There was magic in that flame. Harry shouldn’t have been at all surprised, given the purpose of its presence in the room, but he was still somehow awed as the unfamiliar tingle of a magic he hadn’t known spread across his palms. In three years at Hogwarts, he had never thought magic could feel like this. Somehow, instinctively, Harry opened himself to it, allowing the flow of energy to move across his open hands before absorbing it, pulling it into his core and allowing it to settle there. The flame burned brighter as the exchange of magic went on, and Harry opened his eyes to feel a rush of endorphins. The nagging tension headache he’d had was gone and he felt as if he’d gotten a caffeine boost. He allowed his magic to flow back out of him and into the flame, and it burned even hotter. 

Whatever that was… Harry was rather fascinated by it. The unique sensation, once he settled into it, felt natural and left Harry feeling healthier than he ever had. Harry sat there for a half hour in a trance with the flame and allowed the magic to flow between him and the foreign source of energy, feeding it as it fed him.

When Harry heard footsteps in the hall outside the door, he came to his senses, and looked up just in time to meet Rustgrip’s eye as he entered the office once more.

“What are you doing?” Rustgrip cried, a look of alarm taking his face as he rushed over to Harry and yanked the boy’s hands from the flame.

Harry just watched as the goblin examined his hands, finding no burns, scorch marks or otherwise evident harm on the skin. Other than the fact that Harry was feeling a bit warm, he felt entirely unmarred by the now roaring purple flame in the grate.

“Fascinating…” the goblin murmured, giving the boy’s hands another examination. “If you, like most your age, couldn’t use wild magic, you would have been burned.”

“Wild magic?” Harry asked, standing up and following the goblin to the desk.

“Fae magic, also called wild magic. It’s a type of innate energy shared by all magical beings, originally a gift from the old gods. Wild magic is no longer taught to humans, for fear that they will warp themselves and misuse it,” Rustgrip tutted rather scornfully. “Fae magic was abandoned by humans and these days it’s exceedingly rare to see it as well-developed as yours would have to be to come unharmed from that concentration of energy you touched in the grate.”

“Why was it abandoned?” 

“I don’t know, I am no human. Goblins come from an entirely different source, we have neither any grasp on fae magic nor any need for it. There should be some decent places in Nocturne Alley where you can find out about it. Until you know more, try not to use any magic without a wand.”

“What about the trace?” Harry asked, suddenly remembering what he was supposed to be doing. “Am I emancipated?”

“Yes, congratulations Mister Potter, you are now guardianless and have officially been passed the title of Head of House Potter. We can start the process right away to give you access to the Potter family vault. That said, the trace is no longer active on your wand, given that it would be unfair to simply release a magically emancipated minor out into the world with no magical resources of any sort.”

Harry swelled with joy at this, and even Rustgrip had a pleased sort of smile gracing his severe face as he waved his hand and summoned a stack of scrolls from one of the higher shelves behind him. 

“Would you like a moment, or are you ready to move on to examining the list of assets you are now in possession of?”

“Please, can we look at the assets?” Harry asked curiously. “I know next to nothing about my family, how did the Potters get so rich?”

“Well, I don’t know how well you know your wizarding history, nor old folktales and legends… but the Potters are a very old family. While they are not well-recognised or nobles like the Malfoy family or the Bones family and so on, they are just as old. The family used to be incredibly large, and went under a different name for a time: Peverell. Have you heard of the brothers Peverell and the deathly hallows?”

“No…” Harry said, utterly confused at the mention of wizarding lore.

“I suggest you study the Deathly Hallows legend, mister Potter, but I suppose the gist of it is this: centuries ago, three brothers: the Peverells, came into possession of three very dangerous artifacts. The Peverells were real, but the legend is just that: a story passed down generations, unknown in origin and unconfirmed in whether or not it’s true. The fact remains that two of the three brothers met their doom, and the third produced an heir, who came of age and changed his name to Potter in order to keep his family safe, as the Peverell infamy had only grown. 

“The Potters have persisted since then, and the family has amassed wealth through the centuries by producing some prodigious and masterful witches and wizards who became an invaluable asset to the family history through their discoveries, exploration and gifts. You are not the first Potter to be exceedingly curious and bold, and, may fate bless you, you certainly will not be the last.”

Harry sat in silence, absorbing the new information about his family, who he’d been wondering about his whole life. He came from an old family of brilliant magicians and explorers. He wasn’t a freak at all… he was the head of House Potter, House Peverell, as it were.


	7. Goblinville, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is a shmillionaire. also other things happen. this is a long chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you’re curious as to why i decided to call this chapter and the last “goblinville”, i don’t have half a clue either.
> 
> i wanted to end this chapter on a very awkward note... you’ll see :)

Rustgrip looked at Harry shrewdly. 

“Are you ready to continue, Mister Potter?”

“Yes, sorry,” Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck and trying not to feel overwhelmed as Rustgrip began to unroll the scrolls in front of him one-by-one. 

“First, you are aware of your trust vault. When we open your other vault, the key will be recalled to you, and any copies illegally made will be destroyed, via magic. Your trust vault contained an estimated four-thousand galleons originally, a fair sum by all means. None of the Potter family artifacts can be found in the trust vault, with the exception of one invisibility cloak, which was withdrawn by one James Potter, who established the trust, about fourteen years ago on July the twentieth. The cloak has not been located since this time.”

“I have the cloak,” Harry said, looking over the first scroll he was offered and seeing the assets listed to his trust vault. He had two-thousand galleons of his trust left, which seemed comparatively far too little after only four years buying exclusively school supplies, but Harry made a mental note to inquire about it later.

“Very good. Now, the Potter Family Vault was sealed upon the death of one James Potter, previous head of House Potter, and has not been opened since then. The assets outside the vault have been sealed as well.”

“Outside… the vault?” 

“Yes, James and Lily Potter had personally been in possession of two houses: the one you are aware of in Godric’s Hollow, and a cottage on the Isle Of Mull in Scotland. There is also an… odd listing here. It gives no specification as to exact size, value, date built or condition, but apparently a few generations back one Oswald Potter built a small home on the isle of Hy-Brasil, off the coast of Ireland. No address is given and, since the island hasn’t been seen since the mid-nineteenth century, this residence will likely remain sealed after your vaults are opened.”

“When you say the island hasn’t been seen, what do you mean?” Harry asked, leaning forward in his chair to look over the property list held out to him.

“The last wizard explorer to set foot on Hy-Brasil was the explorer Oswald Potter. The island had been known for disappearing and reappearing sporadically, and very few beings had ever succeeded at reaching it. Oswald Potter himself disappeared along with the island, leaving his son to establish the Potter residence in Godric’s Hollow where the family lived from then on, but the island has been seen by neither magic folk nor muggle for over a century and a half.”

“So… I have two houses. And I have a place on a mythical island that may or may not exist anymore?”

“Technically,” Rustgrip explained, reaching out to tap on the Godric’s Hollow listing with one long boney finger, “You still own the property in England, but you’ll find the house has been completely destroyed and sealed off by the Ministry of Magic courtesy of Albus Dumbledore and his Wizengamont. The only home currently accessible to you is the one on the Isle of Mull.”

“I see. So I could go and live there when I’m not at Hogwarts?” Harry asked hopefully.

“Yes, It would be the wisest option. The property is safe, unconnected to the floo network, protected by a strong fidelius charm and various other powerful wards.”

The goblin showed him a third scroll before beginning to read off of it.

“Now, the Potter Family Vault itself is quite impressive. It contains a sum total of one-hundred-and-eleven-thousand galleons, four-thousand silver sickles. The family heirlooms and artifacts are as follows: jewelry from Potter women’s dowries, one-hundred-forty-two individual grimoires, journals, travel records and spellbooks, several dozen preserved potions and ingredients of individual values, listed as follows, including but not limited to: dragon’s blood, rose gold and pearl powders, fairy skulls -which, if I may say, are exceedingly rare- and acromantula venom. The vault holds several suits of armor and weapons, three crystal divination balls of varying sizes and materials, roughly twenty tapestries and rugs, some of which date back to the early sixteenth-century…”

Harry was absolutely amazed as Rustgrip continued to list assets and objects, and felt a bit overwhelmed. Even as he was handed the list to examine for himself, Harry could simply stare in utter disbelief as he tried to take it all in. 

As though the goblin sensed his incredulity, Rodgrip explained quickly, “The Potter family never purchased mansions or large parcels of land, instead choosing to place most of their wealth in magical artifacts and things of historical significance. Potter family members are few, as well as extremely frugal. Perhaps the most important things in that vault are the adventure journals, but the vault also contains the wand of one Ignotius Peverell, the earliest traceable member of the Potter bloodline, which has been kept safe for generations.”

“We should open up the vault,” Harry decided. “I think I’d like to read some of those journals and spellbooks.”

“Very well, Mister Potter,” Rustgrip said, “I’ll need to talk to one of my colleagues about getting back your trust vault key, then we can see about going down to the vault itself.”

Harry watched as the goblin walked towards the door.

“Oh, and try not to touch anything else.”

***

Harry stared at the enormous trunks full of books in front of him, taking in every detail. He had already raided the collection of jewelry, taking anything shiny that he could fit on his thin, knobbly fingers and wrists (not much). He had ended up with a small silver band inlaid with emeralds carved like little leaves that felt like it was enchanted, though he couldn’t tell quite how, a pair of earrings he aspired to put in once he pierced his ears (seeing how well they matched his eyes), and a small gold cuff that had been engraved with words he couldn’t read and apparently gave its wearer the ability to detect poisons in wine and water: a trinket that, unbeknownst to Harry, had been selected by his own grandmother who had been a noble lady from the Black family before she married into the Potters. 

Harry had also rolled up and tucked away a pair of gorgeous old tapestries that he planned to take with him to the Isle of Mull house: one depicted a noble-looking man holding a gleaming sword and fighting a dragon (something Harry didn’t know would be ironic yet) while cherubs and angels blew on their trumpets from the sky above, sitting on delicately woven clouds of white and blue and gold thread. The other tapestry cut the godlike figure of a woman with flowing white hair rising from misty-looking mountains, cradling a dove in the palm of one hand and a blooming flower in the other. Unlike the first, the tapestry of the goddess moved: her eyes were shut but her pearly hair blew around gently in some invisible wind, while the dove fluttered it’s wings in her palm. The red flower went through varying states of bloom, starting with a bud and going until the petals fell from the centre and faded as they fluttered away in the wind. The goddess’ chest rose and fell with her breath. 

Harry, when he managed to tear his eyes away from the gorgeous tapestries, withdrew a large pouch full of gold, and had taken a couple of potions: a loose-leaf healing blend of tea (not technically a potion but still valuable) that was supposed to bring down fevers and ease pain, some plant called “gillyweed” that Harry figured he’d show to Neville, and a potion that made Harry think immediately of Ron: a fire-breathing potion that he would definitely be giving the boy when they went back to school. Ron would most likely use it to prank the twins.

“Are you finished in your vault, Mister Potter?” Harry’s cart guide asked as she stood by the door.

“Er… almost. How do I get the books out?” He asked sheepishly, staring at the overly large trunks full of tomes and journals.

“Shrink them,” The guide said in a deadpan voice, apparently entirely unimpressed as a look of sudden understanding dawned on Harry’s face.

“Right. Forgot I was a wizard. Just a moment, then,” Harry murmured, embarrassed as he pulled out his wand. 

He shrunk all three trunks and closed them up, they were now each the size of his fist but, to his chagrin, they were just as heavy as before. Apparently, he had botched the spell almost completely.

“Well this could be a problem,” He stated blankly as he stared down at the dense little trunks that he definitely wouldn’t be able to carry. He thought for a moment before deciding, he could likely just levitate them.

Levitation, it turned out, was very hard on such heavy objects. That explained to a fair degree why first-year Hogwarts students were to practice levitation of feathers only.

Harry shrunk them again. They were no lighter when they were once they were roughly the size of walnuts.

“Are they stuck to the floor or something?” He groaned as he strained to pick one up.

“If you don’t mind my suggestion,” The cart guide began as she entered the vault to study the chests, though she sounded about to make a suggestion whether or not Harry minded at all. “Perhaps you should redo the enchantment instead of making it more extreme.

“Right. Right. Good idea.” Harry pointed his wand once more at the row of miniscule chests. “Finite incantatem.”

The trunks shed all enchantments and returned to their original size, but Harry didn’t feel quite as confident this time around.

Harry shrank the trunks to about half their size and tried to pick them up again.

While it wasn’t ideal, they were not quite as heavy as before, despite still not being a proportional weight to their size. Harry only just managed to get them into the cart next to him, using a weak sticking charm to keep them from getting dislodged on the bumpy ride and falling through the goblin tunnels out of sight. Harry figured his three previous years of just getting by in charms class were to blame for his current subpar performance under pressure. He would have to remedy it so it didn’t become problematic, no matter how much the thought of so much studying made him shudder.

The ride back was worse than the original ride to the vault. The whole ride felt like the ascent of a roller-coaster on a bumpy wooden track with no descent or sudden drop, but just as much sickening anticipation. Harry held tight to the edge of the cart with one hand and tighter to the rolled pair of tapestries in the other, cursing the Gringotts carts all the way. He was quite grateful that Hagrid hadn’t been with him, given that the half-giant got ill on every ride, and he wondered how his cart guide could do this dozens of times a day. 

***

When Harry finally stumbled out of the cart, he was pleased to find that everything he’d taken with him from the vault was still there, and after being assisted by the cart guide in piling the trunks of books into his arms one by one so he could carry them out of the bank. 

He struggled back through the main hall to the door, lifting by his knees and hoping to god nobody was staring at him… not that he could see over the stack of trunks in his arms. Almost at the huge double-doored entrance, he felt he was in the home stretch, but as he pushed past one of the doors carefully, he stumbled and lost his footing on the threshold, just enough to send the trunks to the ground with heavy clunking sounds as he tried to regain his balance, falling to his knees.

Harry had, unfortunately, stumbled and fallen right in front of a terribly startled witch.

“Oh you poor boy, here, let me help,” She said, in a distinct Scottish accent. Harry looked up to see the witch flick her wand and watch the trunks shrink perfectly and re-arranged themselves into a neat stack, each not larger than a matchbox.

“Thank you so…” Harry began, and looked right into the face of Professor McGonagall. 

“Potter?” She asked, after studying him for an agonizingly long moment. “What are you doing here?” 

“I- I er... hullo professor,” He stuttered. “I’m just withdrawing some money… for money things.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be back in Little Whinging? Who brought you here?”

“I came here on my own, maam.” 

“It’s the beginning of the summer, Potter. You have nowhere to be, except with your family,” She chided.

Harry desperately summoned up all his charm, mentally cringing and wondering how he’d get himself out of this mess. He couldn’t look like he was panicking, so instead he tried to seem as casual as possible. After all, he knew from experience that the professor could smell fear like a bloodhound. To McGonagall, it looked like he was stoned and attempting to act sober.

“Well I’d hardly call them family, professor, but I’ll take that under advisement. If you’ll excuse me, I must be off… ta!” Why did he say “ta”? 

“Not so fast there, Mr. Potter. I’d much prefer apparating you back home to avoid any fuss from the folk in the alley. I wouldn’t say it’s all too safe for you, what with Sirius Black still running loose.”

“I’m really alright, professor. Thanks for the help with the trunks, though,” Harry looked around for the quickest way to leave, but McGonagall was blocking the only door.

“Really, Potter, I insist—“

“Professor.” Harry drew himself up to his (not quite formidable) full height and gathered up all his resolve into his voice. “I will not be going home.”

The woman looked shocked. For the most part, she was shocked to see Harry (who normally caved under any sort of insistence and expressed his rebellion in secret) acting so resolved and confident, but that was obviously wearing off in favor of irritation with this unexpected little problem that she’d likely spend the evening bickering with Dumbledore over.

“Besides,” the boy continued, “You technically can’t make me go back there anymore as it’s no longer legally my home.”

“What do you mean? Not legally your— of all the outrageous—“ Minerva took a steadying breath, “Explain yourself, Mr. Potter.”

At least he had the decency to look a bit awkward. Harry felt all his charm and resolve drain right out of him and he inwardly sighed. “It’s a long story, professor.”

“Good, I have a few hours. You can tell me at the Leaky Cauldron, away from possibly prying ears.” She insisted sternly. She reached for his ear, as though to tweak it, but pulled back, finding that any attention drawn to the odd pair would be less than ideal. Instead she favored leading the boy out by the elbow towards the exit to Gringotts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooooh shit whats harry gonna do


	8. Butterbeer with a boss ass bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and his professor meet to discuss his extraordinary new circumstances. Harry is filled in on some very interesting things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love writing mcgonegall and yes, she and dumbledore DO bicker like an old couple.
> 
> another shorty chapter :), partially written from mcgonegall’s perspective bc why not

The Leaky Cauldron was positively bubbling over with people. As the early afternoon came in, it was time for the wizarding day-drinkers and summer shoppers of the Diagon area to pass through the pub, and the bustling atmosphere only heightened as the energy kicked up. In a quiet corner of the place, one of the furthest booths from the bar was occupied by a strange pair: a scrawny boy with extremely long black curls and a sullen look, and a stern-looking older woman with a tightly-drawn bun and spectacles sitting low on her nose. They talked in hushed whispers, and neither of them seemed too happy to be there. 

Harry related his story to Professor McGonagall over about half an hour, and the two sat in a rather uncomfortable silence for a while longer. He nursed a small mug of butterbeer while he watched her anxiously. Minerva had the feeling that Harry wasn’t telling her everything about the story, there were parts where he hesitated or skipped around, but she tried not to pry.

“Perhaps I should tell Dumbledore about this…” She said finally. “He won’t be pleased to see the blood wards around your family’s house fall, but I suppose our hands are tied.”

“Blood wards? What are those?” Harry asked, momentarily forgetting the awkwardness.

“Well, supposedly there were wards around your house established by your mother. Headmaster Dumbledore thought they would protect you from the Dark Lord.”

“Is that why I was living there instead of being adopted?” McGonagall looked comically surprised at his casual comment, but she shook it off and returned to her sober look as quick as a cat adjusting its delicate balance. She was shaken, but she remembered that Harry had willingly run away from the Dursleys, and she quickly drew further conclusions. Earlier, he had said he would “hardly call them family,” which McGonagall had heard students say before. It was always for the same reason.

“That among other reasons, Potter. I don’t suppose you’ll be coming back to school in the autumn?” She looked at him sternly.

“I will. I don’t plan to give up going to Hogwarts just because I’m living on my own,” He absently spun his mug around by the handle on the table, the glass and wood making a rather distracting (and utterly grating) sound. Even as a human, the professor had sharp senses and a low tolerance for sounds like that. She allowed it for a few more seconds before firmly placing her palm over the rim of the empty mug so the noise would cease.

“See to it that you do. Return, that is. I’m glad you’re at least trying to make good decisions, though it makes me quite nervous to see any of my lions on their own.”

“I understand. If it was Ron or Hermione, I’d have a million questions,” He gave his professor a good-natured smile. “If you want, I can explain this to the Headmaster myself.”

“I daresay I can handle delivering this news to Albus,” Minerva neglected to mention just how difficult it would be to convince the megalomaniacal man to let it be, even though Harry was only young, in the eyes of goblin law it was no longer any of their business. He was a fourteen year old boy, and even though he knew was at higher risk than anyone else his age, that the world was a dangerous place for him, he had still struck out on his own. In her eyes, sometimes forcing children to make the right choices was the only way to help them, and both Minerva and Albus would mourn that they were no longer able to do this.

“I think I’ve taken up enough of your time, professor.” Harry got up as though to leave. 

“Potter,” McGonagall said suddenly, her voice softening, “You do know you can always write to me for anything you need?”

Harry nodded, looking taken aback. She continued: “It is my place as head of Gryffindor house to tell you that the world won’t always be safe for you, so I hope you’ll be a good judge of when to ask me for help.”

“I will, professor. Thank you.” 

“Good luck, boy. And for Merlin’s sake, try to stay out of trouble.”

Minerva sadly watched the boy leave, thinking back to the night at Privet Drive thirteen years ago when this whole thing had begun. She was really going to let Harry go: impulsive, spiteful, naive Harry Potter who had the whole world on his shoulders… She felt like she couldn’t help him anymore, at least, not in the same way as before. 

A part of her, the pure Gryffindor lioness that had led her through her impulsive twenties, was even a bit proud of the boy for striking out on his own. Something had changed besides the boy’s hair: he was more self-assured and straightforward.

The pride was overshadowed by quiet grief at watching Harry, who had been like a nephew to her, walk away to go where she couldn’t protect him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finds a set of tarot cards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, the second part was written by one of the adults who encounters harry. i thought it fitting. 
> 
> Also know im a huge trelawney stan and so naturally im gonna add little bits of lore for her wherever i can, just for fun :)

A set of tarot cards caught Harry’s eye as he passed the window of a grimy old shop in Nocturne. The illustrations were simple at first: all colors and basic figures, but as Harry stared through the hideously filthy glass, they changed and twisted beautifully. The card on the top was The Star, illustrated by an angelic woman with a face like a cherub standing knee-deep in a pure, flowing river. She looked as though she was relishing a deep breath in- Harry could feel the air around him in the alley lose the stench of dust and grime as he studied the woman wearing a halo that looked like a star. 

Harry didn’t even pause at the tarnished door handle before entering his first (intentional) Nocturne Alley shop: The Inner Eye. 

A woman at the counter blinked owlishly at him and he met her gaze, trying to place where he knew her from… She was rail thin, her knobbly hands and wrists were covered in gleaming jewelry, as was her hair, which was wild and curly and greying a bit, tied away from her shrewd face with a golden band. 

“Hello young man!” She called from her place, and Harry drew closer.

“Good morning,” he said politely, “those tarot cards in your window… are they for sale?”

Rather than answer his question, the woman got up and walked around the counter, allowing Harry to follow as she pulled the cards from the window and held them gently in her hands. 

“I do not get many requests for cards… as it stands, old tradition dictates that they must be stolen or gifted to come properly into the possession of a witch or wizard.” She stated, her voice was sharp and clear, but she still reminded Harry of somebody. She held the cards out to him and watched as he took them and shuffled a few to the back.

“Perhaps you should draw one…” she suggested quietly. 

Harry pulled a card from the middle and turned it in his hands.

XI: Strength

A tender looking figure held the head of a peacefully sleeping lion in their ample lap. Golden hair flowed around their shoulders, looking just like the mane of the noble slumbering beast. A sword lay glinting at the lion’s feet, but both human and creature were yet unharmed. The only motion in the card (unlike the glittering and flowing of the river in “the star”) was little wildflowers in the lush grass, swaying in the breeze, and the lion’s chest rising and falling with peaceful breath. 

Harry didn’t ask what this one meant. 

“Say…” the woman said, snapping Harry out of his apparent trance as he traced the edges of the image with a shaking, callused finger, “you look young enough to be a student… do you go to Hogwarts?”

Harry felt he could trust her, so he answered, “yes, I’ll be in fourth year.”

“Ah, it’s not often I get a student in my shop, most people your age tend to dread divination.” Her words kicked Harry’s brain into gear… Divination… Trelawney!

“Are you related to Professor Trelawney?” He blurted out suddenly.

The woman barked out a strange, harsh but delighted laugh.

“Yes I am. Sybill is my cousin on our fathers’ side. My name is Rhea Trelawney.”

“Oh… I thought you looked familiar. You’d be a- a dead ringer for her if you wore glasses.”

“Indeed,” Rhea Trelawney moved to place her hand over Harry’s and she closed her eyes. “You, young man, are certainly an odd sort. Sybill told me there was raw, wild magic left at Hogwarts… you have it too, it seems.” Harry didn’t know how to react, so he closed his eyes too… It seemed like she was reading him, feeling his magic.

She moved back behind the counter and studied him intently, not seeming to notice that what she had just said was odd. Perhaps it ran in the family.

“I can see why you’re interested in those tarot cards,” as Harry drew closer, she held her hands out and received them, placing them on the counter before reaching down below it to take a small, pale pine box with rusted hinges. “They are one of a kind, just like you seem to be, if you don’t mind my saying.”

If you had held Harry at gunpoint, even he wouldn’t be able to say whether or not he minded- he was perplexed, to say the least, but intrigued beyond manners. He was no longer registering this woman’s comments as odd or rude, as he might have in a more normal state of mind. 

“Take care of these,” she said, shoving the box, now full of cards, into his hands. 

“How much for them?” Harry asked, fumbling for his coin pouch. He froze when Rhea shook her head firmly. 

“They are a gift. Tradition dictates that a young diviner’s first set of cards should always be a gift. They belong with you now.” She folded her hands in front of her and gave him a kind smile. “It makes me glad to see that they resonated with you.”

“I can’t just…” Harry stuttered. 

“Take them. They are yours to take, and if you’re still hesitant then know this,” She leaned in close to him and whispered conspiratorially, “those cards choose their diviner just like any wand does. To an inferior wizard they will always deliver false readings, and remain still and colorless.”

Harry didn’t even think to ask what any of it meant as he stammered his thanks. Rhea waved him off and smiled good-naturedly as he left. It was an odd look on a normally shrewd and ponderous face. 

The bells that jingled as he opened the door on his way out sobered him and he looked at the box in his hands. He began to get nervous… what if the cards were cursed? She had seemed very eager to pawn them off on somebody… and Arthur Weasley had once told Ginny: “do not trust anything that thinks for itself if you cannot see where it keeps its brain…” odd words from somebody who enchanted muggle objects to the point of borderline-sentience for fun, yes, but it stuck in Harry’s now- suspicious mind. 

He thought back to the curse-removal shop in Diagon Alley and wondered if he shouldn’t get the cards checked over for something dangerous. 

***

Howard Bree and his small curse-removal shop were having a slow day. Howard spent most days bored: the ex Gringotts curse breaker had looked for a peaceful life and, to his great dismay, got exactly what he wanted. Sure, he made a pretty penny off the odd cursed item, he even partnered with some more reputable wizarding second-hand and antique shops to check over new stock, but more often than not he’d only see a customer or two in a day, or even a week. 

The boy he’d seen passing by on his way into Nocturne was back, this time approaching his place. After a cursory glance at the little box in his hands, he came inside and approached Howard’s extensive workbench (items often had to be dismantled to be uncursed). 

The boy seemed normal enough, he had messy hair that sort of fell in his face and he looked to be about Hogwarts-age. He looked very out of place and Howard assumed he was a muggle born or a half blood, especially since he was allowed to wander into Nocturne Alley alone. The box he clutched was clearly precious, whatever it was.

“Er… hello,” the boy started awkwardly. “I was wondering if you would take a look at this? I don’t know if they’re cursed.” Howard didn’t know what “they” were, but they were likely a recent purchase from knockturne. 

“I can take a look, but any removal services will cost you.” He warned, as he was handed the little pine box.

“I can pay.”

Howard took out his wand and ran a complex series of charms over the box, before opening it carefully.

“Box looks clean. Did you touch the cards earlier?” 

“Erm… I might still have one of them in my pocket,” The boy reached into his back pocket with a bare hand and pulled out another tarot card, watching as Howard dropped his wand and began rummaging behind his desk.

The older man pulled out a pair of thick dragonhide gloves, standard in curse-breaking, before taking the card. Before the boy handed it over to him, the illustrations swayed gently in an imaginary breeze, the whole card seemed filled with life. As the card was handed over, the images on it froze in place and the lively magic and vivid color seemed to recede back into it, as though not willing to come out for the old curse breaker. Howard reached up and rubbed his eyes with one hand, wondering if it was a trick of his eyes, but upon a look at the boy’s astonished face, he realized it likely wasn’t. 

Images only moving for one person could well have been a curse, it was quite uncommon. The diagnosis spells washed over the deck of cards and into every crack and crevice of the box, sweeping every bit of the wood grain and every fiber of the paper.

The magic in the cards was ancient, but the card bodies themselves barely looked as decrepit as they should have been. The magic wasn’t from a witch or wizard, not from a goblin, not from any sort of creature who could create curses in the way wizards knew them, but from faeries. The young boy standing awkwardly in front of Howard’s desk had come into possession of a fae divination tool. 

Gringotts curse breakers were trained to recognize fae magic, they were even taught it’s history. Mere centuries ago, humans had been using fae magic as well as “traditional” spellwork: It was an incredibly dangerous and wild force, and humans, even though they could use it, were far better off without it. Accidental magic in children was often fae magic, and it had become very common in the magical community to bind a child’s magical ability and make it impossible for them to use any magic but that which required the focus of a wand. Wand-based magic, in the eyes of the modern public, was really the only safe, less volatile method of casting. Objects cursed with fae magic, or worse, faerie blood, were simply not saveable except with more of the magic itself. To think that a child was in possession of such a potent magical artifact… 

“How much did you pay for these?” Howard asked casually, continuing with his diagnosis spells. 

“Nothing,” He said, stuttering as Howard raised a brow suspiciously at him. “I- I didn’t steal them or anything! The woman I met in the divination shop gave them to me!”

“I see… did you know this woman?”

“No… she just said the cards belonged with me or something…” The boy didn’t sound so sure of that, just as skeptical as the curse breaker, who was only growing more interested and confused.

“Well then. There’s no trace of wizard or goblin curses on these, you can have ‘em back,” He closed the lid of the little pine box and handed it back to its relieved-looking owner. “But a word of warning to you, boy, the magic on these is strange. Not much is known about it, for a good reason too. If I were you I’d be careful not to mess around with that type of magic. Don’t go and get tangled up in that sort of thing.”

“What kind of magic do you mean?”

“Mind you just listen to me. Like anyone will tell you ‘bout that magic: it’s ancient and wild and wizards gave it up long ago. You’ll find we gave it up for a reason, so let sleeping dogs lie.” Howard almost felt bad having to give such a grim warning to a child like this, but he fretted as he saw the box in the boy’s hands as he nervously fiddled with the lid. “Would you be willing to let me buy those cards off of you?”

“They’re not for sale,” The boy clutched the box to his chest. “But thank you for the offer, and for checking them over. Have a good day!” He rushed quickly out of the shop, and as he went Howard removed his gloves and sunk his forehead into his hands. 

So much for keeping the youth uncorrupted and unsullied by wild magic...


	10. newspaper clippings and other such things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> harry goes clothes shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> foreshadowing for something i haven’t written yet?

The following morning, Harry entered Madame Malkin’s with his money burning a hole through his pocket (which already had a few too many holes for his liking). When the little bell on the door jingled the seamstress looked up and met Harry’s wandering gaze as his eyes flicked around the shop. 

“I’ll be with you in a moment!”  
She said as she measured up a petite witch who had been standing patiently on top of a squat pouf while Madame Malkin fussed with the delicate blue robes draped over her.

While he waited, he looked about and saw a poster on the wall of a wizard wearing long work robes and an accompanying list of possible enchantments to protect the wearer. He studied it and decided that, seeing as he had been told many times over that wild magic was unstable and dangerous, he should get some decently-charmed robes. He had originally come in for a new set of dragonhide gloves, and he didn’t think he would need much besides that, he would simply replace his casual clothes elsewhere.

Madame Malkin finally dismissed the witch on the pouf and called Harry over. 

“You’re a little early for school shopping, Potter,” She said as he stood to get measured up, as usual.

“What I need isn’t for school. Well, mostly anyway. I’d like a set of proper work robes, please, the kind that are enchanted.” He said, as Madame Malkin raised one penciled eyebrow at his request. 

“I see. These wouldn’t be for Hogwarts then, would they?”

“They’re not,” Harry began, “But on the subject I also need some new dragonhide gloves…”

“What happened to your last pair?” She said passively as she began to measure him up.

“The erm… the palms got singed through.”

Madame Malkin looked up at him sharply. “Those gloves are supposed to last years even by the most conservative estimate. How did you manage to singe through them?” 

In truth, last year Harry had been paired with Neville in potions class for a few days, but the pair was quickly split up when they did so poorly on a particularly nasty brew that he had all but ruined his gloves, but he was not about to admit that to the stern seamstress in front of him. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment and he turned his head away and muttered something about venomous tentacula, which Madame Malkin clearly didn’t believe. However, the subject was dropped.

“Alright then, dear, any preference of color?” She finally said after a long awkward silence.

“Erm… green, please.”

“Very well, let us move on to discussing the enchantments for the robes, shall we?”

-

Harry walked out of the shop with a severe chunk of money missing, but he was pleased with his expensive purchases. He had new gloves and beautiful green work robes that were fireproof, waterproof, protected their wearer from extreme temperatures, dangerous substances and any other outside influences with the exception of curses and spells. He expected they had cost more than an entire wardrobe, which explained why such miraculous garments hadn’t been standard on the Hogwarts school shopping list. Seamus Finnegan could have used a pair of fireproof robes, at the very least.

Harry’s shopping trip ended with three muggle shops in which he bought clothing and new undergarments. The shopping suited him just fine, but the third and final store was truly the worst.

Harry had found himself in a cosmetics shop with absolutely no clue what he was looking for. He had thought he would buy concealer like Aunt Petunia used to use and be able to exit the store within five minutes, but instead he found himself standing petrified in front of a huge shelf of creams, powders and foundations with no clue what shade he was supposed to be buying.

Apparently, he had stood there for long enough to catch one of the employee’s attention. From behind him a feminine voice said, “May I help you, miss?”

Harry turned around to face the woman wearing a ponytail, an apron with a nametag, and a bored look upon her face. The boredom quickly turned to surprise and she stepped back a bit, apologetic. 

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“It’s fine,” Harry said patiently, a bit relieved for the offer of help. “I do have a few questions…”

“Alright, what is it you’re looking for?”

“Well, that’s just the thing,” He began cautiously, “I don’t really know. I need something to cover a scar, something that will stay on for a while, but I don’t know where to start.” 

After a good fifteen minutes of searching around for different products, testing shades on the back of Harry’s hand and so on, Harry was finally able to apply some of it to his scar, and he went up to the register to pay.

As the cashier rang him up, he found himself staring at the headline of a newspaper on the desk, which she had clearly been in the middle of reading before he had entered the shop.

“MASS MURDERER SIRIUS BLACK SPOTTED IN LONDON,” The front of it read in large, bold letters. Harry had been aware that the muggle world knew about Sirius, but as he fumbled with the money and retreated from the shop, he found himself in a state of utter shock at the absurdity of it.

It was then that he resolved to take a good look around muggle London for one stray black dog.


	11. In the corners of Nocturne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry goes to buy books. He accidentally lears how the existence of magic came about. My summaries are as dry as the desert... Can i get some sort of bot or AI to write these for me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im trying my best here but a combination of academic burnout and DEPRESHUN means i may have left something to be desired with it and im checking it obsessively. im not a great editor but im hoping i made some sense from the very in-depth conversation where i explain some of the magical lore i’ve made up for this wild magic au, needless to say im trying to make the reader feel like they arent looking at a textbook but that’s hard AF to manage

The overstocked used books shop at the very end of Nocturne Alley was incredibly seedy, seeing as it mostly contained spellbooks forbidden and banned from any school or reputable shop in Europe, but it was still Harry’s destination of the afternoon. He’d heard about it earlier, a couple of witches were murmuring to each other in Flourish And Blotts: it was a place where people bought and sold everything from books on dark magic to banned muggle literature.

Harry had questions on “fae magic” and he didn’t think he could find them in Diagon. 

He approached a large shop with a worn old wooden sign reading “Hjordis’ second-hand books” in extremely chipped paint. The windows were almost opaque with age and the shop would have looked closed, if not for the wooden “open” sign that looked as if it were about to fall off the tarnished doorknob. 

The bell on the door jingled, but it was muffled by the thick layer of dust in the air of the dim shop. Harry marveled at the layer of filth preventing light from entering. Stacks of books of every kind could be found in chairs, enormous bookshelves in great long rows, crates stacked over one another, even on the floor. The labels on the bookshelves told Harry that the small section in the front was “Muggle Fiction,” the next was “Muggle science” followed by “curses”, “kitchen charms”, “language”, “travel”, “dark magic theory”, “Mythology”, “textbooks”, “potions”, “magical fiction”, “biographies”, “magical creatures”, “humanoid cultures”, and what must have been scores of other topic that Harry was itching to get his hands on… but first, fae magic. 

Harry approached a desk covered in such a high stack of precariously placed books on either side, he feared too quick a motion would cause a paper avalanche. In the middle, peering over a stack of thick parchment and a cracked inkwell was a woman who looked as old as time. She peered up at Harry through thick glasses, which she adjusted on her nose to keep them from slipping off her ancient face.

“Hello there dearie, I’m Hjordis, welcome to Hjordis’ secondhand books. What can I do for you today?” She squeaked in a frail but stern voice with a thick northern accent that reminded Harry a bit of Madam Pince at Hogwarts. Hjordis fixed Harry with her shockingly blue eyes as she stuck her quill into her knot of snow-white hair. 

“Hello I er… I’m looking for books on faeries and fae magic,” Harry said, leaning in a bit and lowering his voice, feeling like he’d look awfully stupid if somebody heard him while lurking behind one of the many bookshelves.

“No need to worry, dear, you’re my only customer today,” the old woman said cheerfully as she hopped off the tall stool behind her desk. “No need for so much secrecy.”

Harry followed her as she led him to the end of the shop where a small wooden door bearing an unreadable wooden sign sat, lock barring enter. 

“You said you wanted fae magic, yes?”

“Yeah…”

“Those books will be in my stockroom. Follow me, dear.” 

Hjordis ushered Harry into a cramped, overstocked little room with books overflowing from every shelf, organized in a system that only Hjordis herself could ever have possibly understood. Harry watched dumbstruck as the little old woman flitted about the stockroom with ease, finding every book she thought necessary with little to no trouble and piling them one by one into Harry’s arms. The stack nearly doubled Harry over by the time the old lady was satisfied and she led him back out of the stockroom. 

“Er… thank you, I’m just going to take a closer look at some of these,” Harry said, voice straining thanks to the weight of the books precariously balanced against his scrawny chest.

“Of course, take your time, there’s a nook over by the “kitchen charms” section where you can sit and study them.” She said kindly, already returning to her desk.

“Oh and dearie,” She called as he walked towards the suggested section, “My familiar likes to be loose around this shop, so don’t be surprised if you run into him, but watch where you step, he likes to hide in the floorboards. He won’t hurt you.”

Harry nodded, anxious to simply put the books down. What he found in the “kitchen charms” section was a cozy little round table with a squat, overstuffed yellow armchair by it. The nook was far less dusty than the rest of the bookshop, and even had a sweet little porcelain lamp to read by (a frivolity in a society where “lumos” was a common tool). 

When Harry settled in and picked up the first of what must have been twenty books, a soft hiss came from behind him. He turned to see a copperhead snake coiled on the back of an armchair, practically blending in with it. He must have been Hjordis’ familiar.

“It's been a long time since anyone bothered with fae magic,” He murmured, slithering carefully down the side of the armchair to level with Harry’s head. 

“I got curious because of something a goblin said to me yesterday,” Harry informed the copper snake. 

“It's nice to meet another parselmouth besides my witch.”

“Hjordis is a parselmouth?”

“Yes, I’ve been with her since I hatched. Are you a friend of hers?” 

“No, just a patron.”

“So,” the copperhead spoke in what, were it english, would have been a delicate, aristocratic accent. He dropped down gently onto the table in front of Harry and coiled himself up beside the book. “What do you want with the ancient fae magics?”

“Today I came into possession of a set of cards that I was told carries fae enchantments. The man who told me called it ‘wild magic’, and this spring a seer told me I must learn about such things… I figured I’d start here,” Harry informed the snake as he carefully perused the index of the first book titled “The Rise and Fall of the Fae Mages of Ireland”. It looked like some sort of historical text, stated as translated from gaelic on the cover.

“That book is good if you just want history, but if you want to learn about the magic itself, I’d go with those books,” The corn snake said, nodding towards a pair of heavy, ancient looking tomes titled respectively “Fae Magic and Wild Magical Theory: A Wizard’s Guide”, and “Forbidden Applications of Wild Magic in the Modern Day”. 

“Thanks,” Harry said has he pulled the tomes out from under the other dusty books and examined them. The first one, Wild Magical Theory, was bound in worn and frayed emerald green linen, and it was only half about theory, the rest illustrated techniques to set the mind and body of a human into harmony with fae magic for safe usage: rituals, meditations daily prayers and practice spells were all laid out, making the book an ideal resource for a witch or wizard transitioning from magica moderna, also known as “focus-based magic”, since a magical body too used to one method of casting would be put in danger upon transition, which was something Harry would definitely be learning about later.

The second book, “Forbidden Applications”, was essentially a grimoire, filled with such an incredible amount of different resources, rituals, chants, practices and everything else that Harry thought, if one of his teachers at Hogwarts knew about it, they would try to burn down the bookstore. Things in that book would be outlawed purely because they were so… other. 

“Have you and Hjordis read all of these books?” Harry asked curiously, as a quick skim of the book’s introductions found them to be exactly as the snake had told him.

“And then some,” The copper said with what sounded like a serpent’s laugh.

“So what do you know about wild magic?” He asked.

“Only as much as Hjordis does. She hatched me when she was going to Durmstrang, she was just sixteen and already secretly learning the four methods of magic… Of course, that was over two-hundred years ago. I’m still very proud of her.” 

Harry looked at the snake, entirely lost at what the “four methods” could be. Perhaps the copper noticed the boy’s blank stare, as he looked thoughtful for a moment before explaining: “Think about it like this: magic is classified the way animals are: they all belong to one kingdom, but there are different species within it. There are four known methods. First is the most pure and simple, that’s Beast Magic, also known as Innate Magic, it’s used by magical creatures who can manipulate their own magical cores. In simple terms, Beast magic is the self-sourced magic a soul uses to change its own vessel. 

Harry nodded along.

“The second method is Wild Magic, or Fae Magic. The wild is drawn from the sources all around and in us: nature, emotion and life are all potent sources for fae magic. It manipulates the world around you. Wild Magic is sourced from both the vessel of the soul and the outside world, and can therefore change both the vessel and the environment around it.”

“Is that why it’s so unstable?” Harry interrupted.

“Indeed. As it draws energy from anything available, it’s extremely powerful and therefore hard to balance,” The snake explained patiently. “Now, the third source is Magica Moderna, also known as Focus-Based Magic. It was originally used by goblins, who have outside sources to transform their innate magic into something more potent, and to amplify it. Magical foci are the centre of this method, and when humans abandoned Wild Magic, they turned instead to the methods the goblins used and took it for their own. This magic is based on incantations and precise movements and rituals: it cannot function if not perfectly performed, unlike Wild Magic which is entirely reliant on intent.”

“So modern magic is the only magic taught at Hogwarts, then.” Harry noted.

“Yes, this is the case with most magical educations in the modern day, they only direct the accepted method. Purists in the education world look to abolish the teaching of all ‘impure’ magic… which is rather foolish. The fourth is the most ancient, elusive and hard to master. It is called Divine Magic, but it’s more commonly known as Abyss Magic. Divination is one of the few schools of Divine Magic that is deemed acceptable by the modern magical world, it is simply the act of interpreting and translating time into thought, and time is inherently divine. The other three methods all draw from what is: pre-existing powers and energy. Divine magic is what makes all the other magics possible: it is the creation of new energy, and the death of the old. The creation of soul and conscience and life all fall under this category, but so does the true death of the soul. The other three schools of magic are the pages of the book, but Divine magic is the binding and the cover.” It made sense: if Divine Magic was so elusive, then that explained why Divination was so difficult and why so few wizards liked it at all.

Harry hesitated a moment as the copperhead finished its speech. “When you say death, you don't mean… the killing curse?”

“Well… that’s magica moderna. The soul lives on regardless and the magical energy is simply recycled back into the earth upon the death of a vessel. The Avada Kedavra is the destruction of the vessel, but the practice of the divine is the destruction of the soul or of the magical energy. If you want an example: Dementors, horcruxes and black holes are fair examples of the divine. Muggles live with the idea that energy cannot be created or destroyed, but this is wrong: everything with a middle has a beginning and an end. We as vessels are not meant to understand, but our souls do. To animals who live and breathe like we do, the killing curse is the end, but in reality one who wields it is most powerless in the eyes of eternity. Death as we know it is no true end.”

Harry sat back in the yellow armchair, utterly bemused as he tried to wrap his head around the concept of existence. It was almost a comical thought, Voldemort, ‘powerless in the eyes of eternity’. He supposed he wore a rather blase look. The idea that anyone with the ability to kill in the blink of an eye held no true power was simply impossible to the boy, but the Copperhead sounded so assured when he had explained it all. In words, it was a beautiful and eloquent definition of the nature of universal energy, something so flawlessly delivered by the snake that it was almost unreal, but in abstract thought it was a big ball of soggy yarn that Harry had been told to untangle. He slumped in his chair, and a thought occurred to him as he did so: who was this creature that had just defined the universe to him?

“I don’t think you told me your name,” He said hesitantly.

“In a conversation between only two, names are not a necessary thing, have you ever noticed?”

“I would still like to know.”

“My name is Thorn,” The copperhead said, inclining the front of his body in the serpent equivalent of a bow. 

“I’m Harry,” Harry told him, bending his head and neck in what he could only assume was the proper response.

“What a funny thing it is, to introduce ourselves only after discussing the nature of the universe. It is as if to say ‘your existence means nothing, but tell me about it anyway,’” Thorn said, flicking his tongue and chuckling. 

It occurred to Harry that Thorn was quite old indeed, given that at Harry’s last trip to the zoo, he had met an American copperhead and had learned they are lucky to live a decade and a half, and that Thorn had most likely been alive for more than ten times that long, given Hjordis’ age. Harry felt overwhelmed, and it showed on his face.

“Perhaps I’ve given you a bit too much to think about,” Thorn said hesitantly. “For one so young as yourself I think that two methods of magic are more than enough to handle. Abyss magic is best learned by the old and wise: the young are connected to the body but the old know their soul. Hjordis and I will likely still be around when you decide to turn towards the divine.” 

“But what if I’m never ready?” Harry asked worriedly, and Thorn just laughed. 

“I am a creature born with deadly venom, and I have taken many lives in all my long years. I hunted any creature that could succumb to my venom without question, because I needed to eat. It was only after I became old that I began to ask myself why, and when I did, I became more than just a killer, I became a mind too. You are a creature born with a beating heart, you go on living every day because all your heart knows how to do is beat. When you begin to ask yourself why your little red heart continues on, you will no longer be just a heartbeat, but a mind too.”

“What does that even mean?” Harry asked, utterly bewildered by Thorn’s sudden onslaught of cryptic nonsense. How could something be so wise and so stupid at the same time? It reminded Harry of Dumbledore... 

The copperhead uncoiled himself and slithered down the leg of the table and off between the shelves. “Good luck, hatchling!”

Harry sat for a minute and thought. Beast Magic was innate, everyone had it. He was learning Focus Magic slowly but surely, and he had a proclivity for Fae Magic. Perhaps the divine was just too much for him. He was a beating heart, but he couldn’t learn Divine Magic until he became a mind? Maybe that snake wasn’t all too wise after all… 

He put it out of his head and went back to sorting the volumes stacked in front of him. 

There were five other books in the pile that caught Harry’s interests: “Historical Human-Faerie Events of Great Britain”, “Stonehenge’s Purpose: An Investigation into Ancient Wild Ritual Practices”, “Hy-Brasil: a Travel Guide to the Lost Island”, “Understanding Our Roots: Lost Rituals and records”, and “a Study into the Fundamentally Other”. 

Harry also took the liberty of asking Hjordis about any other books on other forbidden magic, as well as perusing the “dark magic theory” section and looking for new spellbooks. Outside of Hjordis’ recommendations, Harry also found “A Comprehensive History Of Dark Magic Practices”, “Le Grimoire De Magie Du Sang”, “Advanced Guide To Restricted And Non-Tradeable Potions”, “Wards All Decent Wizards Should Know”, “Basic Passive Enchantments”, and even a copy of “Moste Potente Potions”, the very same book Harry and his friends had used in second year to brew polyjuice. 

Harry had never considered himself much of a reader: He wasn’t allowed to use the library in Surrey and between quidditch and his friendship with Ron Harry had been kept plenty busy at school… but ever since he opened himself to his magic the night he left the Dursleys, he had felt an overwhelming hunger to learn more about it. For the first time in Harry’s young life, he actually cared about learning magic and understanding the world around him, the way he wished he could have when he was little. When he first entered Hogwarts, he could have cared less about the “learning” portion of school: he was completely obsessed with his first ever friends and with being able to do what he wanted for the first time. Something had changed, and Harry was ready to master his magic.

Just as Harry was beginning to think he was ready to buy his books and retreat back to the Moonflower Inn for the night, he found Hjordis waiting at the counter with one more.

“Thorn told me you were looking into divination,” Hjordis told him, watching the small copper snake wind his way up her arm. He could have sworn the little reptile winked at him with his creepy, scaly eyelids. “The book I have for you here is a beginner’s guide to tarot. It has three different people’s notes in it… the owners all wrote their piece before passing it on to me. I think you’ll find it quite useful.”

She handed him an old leather bound book with creased and damaged corners and a rich red color. The binding and front were stamped in shimmering silver, but they were titled in runes. 

“The book itself is translated to English,” The old woman said, noticing Harry’s concern.

“In that case, how much for all of these?” Harry said, handing back the book and giving her the stack that had been tucked under one arm.

Harry had paid thirty golden galleons and eleven silver sickles for all his books, which was quite an astonishing price considering the sheer volume of forbidden information he had bought, and since he had to get fourteen rather large books back to the inn, Hjordis had let him use her fireplace to floo back, right into the lobby. 

When Harry finally deposited his books upon the small table across from his bed, he immediately got to reading the first: “Fae Magic and Wild Magical Theory: A Wizard’s Guide”. Harry groaned aloud when he realized just how long the introduction was. Introductions to nonfiction books had been the bane of his existence since beginning at Hogwarts, and he hated to think he’d have to read one willingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I made Thorn as ridiculous and dumbledoreish as possible...
> 
> This is the end of my finished, edited work for this SO FAR, and i promise the rest of it is coming but imma need a hot second. please dont give up on me it will be here lol, i just need time.
> 
> for all you nerds like me out there I KNOW that the copperhead is an AMERICAN species of snake and that they’re normally too venomous to keep in a bookstore like a fucking cafe cat but its a magical world so let me have this, i headcanon that Hjordis bought him from the black market because she was one hell of a sketchy, ambitious ass teenager. 
> 
> third fun little note: i only realized that one of the coronavirus vaccines was named ‘moderna’ AFTER i began writing this goddamn story and im too lazy to change it. now that i’ve made the mental connection, it’s all i see.


	12. Letters and feathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry makes arrangements to go to the Isle of Mull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly this chapter is a hodgepodge of little things i couldn’t *not* write but also couldn’t make a whole chapter out of them. I’m not good at writing goblins so enjoy that
> 
> look at the end notes if my portkey shit doesnt make sense to you (probably look at them anyway)
> 
> important announcement: i did no editing or rereading of this chapter. the contents of my brain are your problem now. i promise i’ll be better on the next chapter im just going through an academic burnout/anxiety spiral combo that feels like redbull mixed with nyquil.
> 
> please forgive the odd formatting for the letters, i still can’t use italics on this website!!!

Another overcast morning in Diagon Alley found Harry knelt on the stone floor of Rustgrip’s office in Gringotts, once again playing with the magical flame in the grate while he waited for the goblin to return. Today was, hopefully, the day Harry would be brought to the Isle of Mull to inspect the cottage he had inherited in hopes of moving in soon enough. 

By the time Rustgrip returned, a second goblin on his heel, Harry was elbow-deep in the flames. The other goblin cried out in surprise but Rustgrip just patiently held up one long, knobby hand.

“That’s fairly normal for him, Stonekeep.”

Harry looked up and pulled his arms out of the grate with a shrug before returning to his seat in front of the large wooden desk. The two goblins crossed to the other side, The new one, Harry noticed, was holding a large parchment roll under one arm. 

“Mr Potter, this is Stonekeep, she works on magical wards for properties under the care of Gringotts. Today she’ll be showing you the ward scheme of your cottage on the Isle of Mull and, time permitting, take you to it.” Rustgrip introduced the second, shorter goblin with the scroll. She looked very young and fairly pleasant, possessing none of the deep furrows in her brow that Rustgrip had. She nodded in greeting, eyeing Harry’s exposed forearms as though trying to see any traces of burns upon them.

She cleared her throat gently and unrolled the parchment upon the desk. “Well met, Mr Potter. With due consideration to the nature of the enchantments placed upon the house, I have concluded that there will be no need for magical repairs. It had been put in stasis since before the previous owners passed. I believe though that, aside from the fidelius charm placed upon it and a strong web of muggle-repellents and notice-me-nots, the ward scheme is entirely clean across the property. As you can see from these plans,” She gestured at the parchment, “You own exactly one acre of property, however only the cottage has been under any sort of stasis.”

“This all seems too good to be true… but what’s a fidelius charm?” Harry asked uncomfortably.

“A fidelius charm is a powerful spell meant to hide a location from those who do not know of its existence. It is untraceable by any magical means with the exception of being told by one who resides outside the hidden location. This person is called the “secret keeper” and is charged with keeping the residents of the hidden location safe.”

“So… are you the secret keeper?” 

“No, that would be the neighbors who live closest nearby. They were, according to some of these notes, well acquainted with your grandparents… well, there’s only one secret keeper currently, seeing as one of them is registered as deceased.” 

“My secret keeper is my neighbor?” 

“Yes, do keep up. The stasis will be lifted when the owner of the property, that would be you Mr. Potter, decides to take it down.” Stonekeep stated, gesturing to some scrawled notes on the edge of the paper. “It is a simple spell, but you will need to visit the property to do this. Would you like to schedule a guide to take you to the property?”

“I suppose. I’d like to live there relatively soon… Though it just occurred to me I have no reliable way to go back and forth.” Harry rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. He had found, now that his hair was long, it took all his concentration not to mess with it every few seconds.

“Well… seeing as you, our client, own the property, an exception to the normal procedure for portkey enchantment regulations could be made. We could bypass the normal months-long ministry process. We could provide you with a permit to make portkeys to the location only. There’s actually a class open for tomorrow afternoon. It will cost you, though.” Rustgrip suggested carefully.

“As long as I can go home whenever I need and get there safely,” 

“There’s always the floo network…” Stonekeep chimed.

“Anything but that,” Harry shuddered at the memory of going through the floo. it was disgusting, confusing and nauseating. Frankly, Harry thought he’d rather take a Gringotts cart everywhere than ever use the floo again.

***

As it turned out, the sheer amount of paperwork for simply scheduling a guide to take him to the Isle of Mull took far longer than Harry would have preferred. The port-key safety packet he had to go through and sign his initials took almost an hour, he signed contracts and clauses and agreements of all sorts and only then could he schedule training to learn to make portkeys at all. 

The sun was down by the time Harry shambled back to the Moonflower Inn, dragging his feet up the stairs to his little room and his stack of books on the nightstand. 

Just as Harry opened up to his marked place in “Wild Magical Theory”, where he was learning about the process of transitioning to a different magic class in a chapter titled “From Focus to Fae”, when a tap came from the window. 

For a moment, Harry shook it off, reasoning to himself it was just something blown in the breeze that had hit the window… Then he remembered there wasn’t a breeze in sight and the whole day had been rather muggy. The tap came again.

Hedwig sat patiently at the window, blinking slowly at Harry. He rushed to open the latch and coaxed her inside, noticing a letter tied to her left leg.

“Good to see you, girl. You must be hungry.” Harry found himself very grateful that on one of his many trips to Diagon and Nocturne Alley he had picked up owl treats in anticipation of Hedwig’s return. He fished a small package out of one of the paper bags he had been given at Eeylops Owl Emporium, with a little black and white owl printed on the side, ruffling up its feathers and preening. 

The letter was tied with frayed twine, as Ron’s letters always were. The parchment had what looked like a large tea stain across its surface, but darker. Dean had turned Ron onto coffee in third year, so Harry figured it was most likely that, albeit weak. 

_________________________________  
Harry,

Hey mate! Your Hedwig just showed up at the Burrow today, no message with her. Are you ok? Are the muggles as bad as last year? I hope they aren’t still mad you blew up your aunt… 

Anyways, Hermione’s been worrying. I keep telling her it’s been less than a week but she seems to think the muggles locked you up again. Can you go ahead and tell the headcase you aren’t dead so she doesn’t have a bloody aneurysm? 

I got a new owl. Ginny’s been trying to name him Pigwidgeon, and now he only responds to Pig. Be glad you don’t have a little sister. Pig was a gift from Sirius. Said he felt bad Scabbers wasn’t a real rat. Somehow I think Pig might be worse than a rat. He chews just as much and knocks things off high shelves. I sent Hedwig because he still can’t deliver letters to the right person for the life of him. Percy’s been trying to show me how to train him when he isn’t shut up in his room or being so smug about some “top secret ministry project” like anyone besides Dad actually cares. 

Speaking of dad, he got us tickets to the World Cup! It’s Ireland vs Bulgaria which means we’ll get to see Viktor Krum flying! He’s like a quidditch god! Since it's in England this year, he says we can all go see it together. It’s at the end of the summer… Sorry we can’t come rescue you before then! Dad says you have to stay with the muggles for your own safety… whatever that means. We’ll be coming to pick you up the day before your birthday, though. We can get together for all of August, which should be fun.

I’m not really sure what else to write… hope you’re okay! good luck with the muggles, mate.

-Ron

(P.S: If you get a letter from Fred and George, don’t open it… They’ve been working on prank envelopes. Mum’s hands are still bright blue from one.)  
_________________________________

Harry smiled as he read through the letter. After looking through it one more time he rummaged in the drawer of the room’s mahogany desk where he had tucked away the complimentary notepad of flimsy lined paper. Once he found it, and the ballpoint pen he’d taken with him so he wouldn’t have to use a quill again, he began to write his reply:

_________________________________

Ron,

Hedwig just got back, I’m grateful you didn’t send “Pig” seeing as I’m not at the Dursleys’ at all. As of now, I’m actually staying in Nocturne Alley (don’t tell your mum PLEASE) and I don’t think I’ll be going back to Privet Drive anytime soon. I’ll write Hermione, but she’s going to have a lot of questions I’m not too anxious to answer all at once. 

The World Cup sounds great. I imagine we’ll be rooting for Ireland, despite your love affair with Krum, whoever that is… I’m not in the loop, so you’ll need to fill me in on some things. I can probably come to you guys, seeing as I’m trying to secure my own arrangements for traveling. Turns out, my grandparents had a house in Scotland I’ll be able to stay at. Can you ask your dad for more information on the fidelius charm? one of the goblins at Gringotts mentioned it…

I have a lot to tell you about, but I’m not sure where to start… a lot has happened in the last few days. 

If the twins try to give you any trouble, I’m sending over a potion to help you with them. Just a sip will have you breathing fire for a good while. Seamus would kill for something like this, but I figure it's better off in the hands of… well… anyone BUT Seamus actually. Take it with some water. I read in “Moste Potente Potions” that it’s pretty hot. 

-Harry

_________________________________

As Harry skimmed back through his own letter, he decided it was probably good enough and drafted one of a similar, more reassuring tone to Hermione. After he attached Ron’s letter (and the fire-breathing potion, wrapped in a bit of paper to keep it safe) he sent Hedwig out and tucked Hermione’s away to send off next. 

***

Harry waited in an odd little low-ceilinged, open-floored room for the instructor who had spent the afternoon teaching him to make portkeys so he could get a permit to use them. The goblin, Kraggnot, had pretty much up and left after deciding Harry was good enough at making portkeys to take him across the room. Apparently, since he had scheduled a guide to take him to the Isle of Mull and show him the ward scheme on the same day as the lesson, he would be going there just as soon as Kraggnot found the other guide. Goblins, it turned out, were extremely good at coordinating with one another.

Harry began pacing on wobbly knees. Portkeys, it turned out, were a very unpleasant form of transportation after all. They made the floo look like a stroll down the sidewalk, what with all the spinning and yanking on nerves. Apparently all forms of teleportation made Harry nauseous. After portkeying from one side of the room to the other for almost an hour before Kraggnot was satisfied, Harry felt sick to his stomach and was completely rethinking his stance on the floo network.

“Good afternoon, Mr Potter,” Came a semi-familiar voice from the doorway. Kraggnot had returned with Stonekeep in tow.

“Yeah… good-Good afternoon,” Harry said slowly, trying not to look as nauseous as he obviously was. For some reason he felt compelled to hide all weakness in front of the goblins, as though they were judging him. From what he knew of them, he was probably right on the mark.

“I see you’ve had a good time today. Are you ready to go to the cottage, as we discussed?” Stonekeep said impatiently.

“Urgh… Okay then. Ready to go.”

“I should warn you,” Kraggnot said with a nasty grin, “The longer the distance between ports, the worse the trip is.” Harry stifled a groan.

“I’ve already made this portkey, since it is not possible to make a portkey to a place which the maker has not been before. Once you have been near the house, you will be able to get to it from any point.” She held out a large rusted key for Harry to touch. Harry had learned that portkeys could be made from any non-living object, but sturdy things were best. “You will not be able to leave the property using portkeys as you are not permitted to.” 

Harry touched the portkey and closed his eyes in anticipation. There came the now-familiar sensation of tugging behind his navel and his hand was glued to the rusted metal as he spun through the air like a carnival ride that was rapidly getting more nauseating.

Just when Harry thought it would never end, he landed with a harsh thud on a clump of thick grass and clover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so Harry’s getting a permit to make portkeys. Portkeys are thematic in Rowling’s fourth book so i figured i’d make them work here too. Normally, the ministry of magic deals with portkey permits but only for wizards who want permission to go anywhere and everywhere. Gringotts deals with permits for wizards who just want a reliable way to return to a property they own and cannot/will not apparate.
> 
> In terms of pleasantness, the order is walking, trainrides, broom rides, apparition, dragons, roller coaster, gringotts cart, floo network, portkey. yes, centrifugal force is a part of the portkey experience
> 
> The way harry’s portkey permit will work is that he can make a portkey to his cottage from anywhere, but he cannot make a portkey *to* anywhere, so leaving the cottage will require a different method of transportation.
> 
> the way portkeys work (in my canon) is that once a solid, non-sentient object is enchanted (such as a glass bottle, a piece of metal, an umbrella, a coin [I also read a fanfic where they made portkeys from oragami, look for Metalduck’s writing “a place apart” they’re super cool]) and the portkey will take you from port A- the place you currently are, to port B- a place the portkey maker HAS BEEN BEFORE and is keyed to that location and only that location. The portkey can be used once, either enchanted to leave at a certain hour or on command of the maker, and is then unusable. The object can, of course, be re-enchantecd. I will be applying this logic to the world cup, but will not be applying it to the triwizard cup (for a very non-canon reason but thats for me to know and you to find out in like chapter 80 or something -dont trust my numbers-)


End file.
